


alcohol, power, touch

by wi1b0rn



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Don't Like Don't Read, Drunkenness, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Modern L'Manberg, NSFW In Future Chapters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Party, Pining, Post-Election, President Schlatt, Soft Schlatt, Touch-Starved, Vice President Quackity, au where schlatt isn't so bad, even softer Quackity, mostly quackity's pov, this is about the SMP characters ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wi1b0rn/pseuds/wi1b0rn
Summary: It’s always been weird between him and Schlatt. Quackity has walked this thin line between flirt and joke, genuineness and satire. He wouldn’t say he was pining for him, not really; they were just close and sometimes he found it tempting to cross that gap.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 38
Kudos: 432





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> half of this is quackity's thoughts and pining, nsfw in later chapters. obviously don't send this work to any creators and don't repost. THIS IS ABOUT THE CHARACTERS FROM THE DSMP, not real people
> 
> the timeline would be sometime after schlatt winning the election. not actually impacted much by dreamsmp lore, this is just self-indulgent bc schlatt is my comfort character and i like to think of a world where he wasnt the biggest piece of shit! anyways, enjoy x

It’s always been weird between him and Schlatt. Quackity has walked this thin line between flirt and joke, genuineness and satire. He wouldn’t say he was pining for him, not really; they were just close and sometimes he found it tempting to cross that gap. Alex didn’t exactly spend his days thinking about whether he’s gay or not either. “It’s fine just the way it is,” he thinks, and that’s just enough. Perhaps it was his incredible ability to avoid deeper contemplation that has caused all this to happen.

That day he sits in his office, legs on his desk and earphones in his ears - just a short work break - when Schlatt barges into the room. He doesn’t feel the need to correct his posture or anything of the sort. He takes out one earbud and raises an eyebrow, turning his gaze towards the man. At first glance, the president doesn’t look much out of the ordinary, but upon a closer look Quackity’s expression twists into worry.

“You good?” he asks and immediately gets interrupted.

“Heyyy, thirty past ten today sound good t’ you?”

Quackity, somewhat confused, sits up and places his feet on the floor. He tilts his head slightly, scanning Schlatt who is stood in the doorway. His cheeks are flushed and his usually neat suit has creases and a few undone buttons; it’s unusual. Schlatt always pays attention to the smallest detail, especially when it comes to his appearance. He likes that about him.

“...private party? Hello? Sound good?” Taller man’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Uh, hell yeah, sure.” He stops for a second and hesitates, but he decides it’s best to speak up before the man goes back through that door. He fixes his beanie instinctively and chuckles, even though he doesn’t feel like it. “Bro, did you just hook up with someone? You look all messed up ‘n’ shit.”

It’s hard to read him, but Schlatt seems surprised for just a brief second, before bursting out with laughter. He looks down on his chest and pats down his suit. Quackity’s gaze carefully follows his long fingers as they caress the expensive fabric.

“It’s that obvious?” Alex cracks a smile, only a bit forced, at the response.

“Kinda.”

Schlatt nods. Even though he’s his boss, he doesn’t seem to mind such a comment. Quackity wonders if he’d mind it if it was said by anyone else; is it the special vice-president privilege or simply how their friendship works?

“Aw, but don’t be jealous, sweet pie,” Schlatt says without hesitation in a satirically sweet tone and they both laugh loudly (as they always do). Quackity feels his cheeks get warmer, but he’s certain the man won’t notice. “You know I’m all yours.”

His last words before he leaves the room are said with the same grin, the white perfect teeth with slightly sharper fangs showing, yet his tone changes ever so slightly. Quackity can’t tell if it’s because the man is most likely already drunk at this hour and doesn’t have the best control over what he sounds like or if it’s genuine, and that makes him feel his heartbeat in his ears.

Schlatt leaves the room and Quackity needs a minute longer to breathe. He wipes his hands on his trousers and realizes, annoyed, that his hands are sweaty. He tends to get like this when he’s alone with Schlatt and he finds it not only inconvenient but quite frankly embarrassing. He lets out a short huff into the lonely, empty space of his office, before putting his earbuds back in and turning on some fast-paced music. He starts filling out the papers on his desk, back to work at last.

_ “It’s that obvious?” _

He rolls his eyes.

_ Of course it’s obvious, you moron. I know you, I know damn well what you look like drunk and this isn’t  _ just  _ you drunk. God, I wish you would’ve walked up closer so I could guess; I know you well, I KNOW I could guess your type. Is it someone I know? I’ve never heard of your relationships and we’re friends after all. Was it just a hookup then? Was she good? _

He finds himself playing out scenarios in his head and it’s dumb, it’s so infantile of him, playing it all out as if Schlatt was still in the room. It’s hard to stop thinking of all the possibilities, of how he could simply grab him by the collar and bring him closer, smell his stupid, expensive cologne. Would he still be able to pass it off as a joke?  _ If we locked eyes, if we locked lips? If I said, “But does she kiss like I do?”  _ Would they still both laugh?

The sound of a call snaps him out of wonder and he realizes he hasn’t been writing anything on the document for the past few minutes. Looking at the phone gives him two pieces of information; it’s a business call, so it’ll get his mind off of things, and it’s also only 5 pm.

Five more hours it is, then.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't send to any creators, don't share publically, don't repost. thank you

_ “Fuck. Did I misunderstand…?” _

He pulls down his beanie a bit further and fixes his hair. He’s dressed casually; a white t-shirt with a worn-out print of some metal band and black official jeans he usually wears with the suit - which, arguably, is the only thing saving him from looking like a lost teenager in this situation.

Quackity looks around the room and all he can see is men and women dressed in an incredibly fancy manner; full-on suits and long, slim dresses. By the name of the place, he wouldn’t have said it was THIS kind of party. Obviously it’s fancy - it’s Schlatt’s choice, after all - but it is a bar. The lights are dimmed and the music is loud enough to be unable to make out the meaning of words from afar but quiet enough so you could comfortably talk with people in your vicinity.

He recognized only a few people, since most of them were exclusively Schlatt’s friends - presumably rich people of questionable morals. He finds Niki, dressed in a gorgeous flowing yellow dress, and greets her with a confident nod. He isn’t one to be awkward or shy, but the company was… overwhelming. He feels both weird being underdressed and stupid for not knowing the dress code. Did he simply not hear or-

Quackity feels a heavy hand on his shoulder and he turns his head and looks up to Schlatt. He has a wide grin on his face, his mutton chops slightly shorter and neater than earlier today; his hair, although it still curls at the base of his neck, has clearly been cut. He’s dressed fancier than usual, with a red waistcoat on that Quackity knows to be newly bought. His sturdy ram horns shine in the club light.

“Damn, man, you look fresh,” he says as a greeting and feels Schlatt pat him on a shoulder a few times. The taller man is smiling and it almost makes him forget the embarrassment he’s been feeling. “Am I dumb or did you forget to tell me to put on my fanciest suit before coming here?”

“Pretty sure I told you,” he chuckles. “Someone on your mind?”

Quackity rolls his eyes, ignoring the question.

“I look fucking stupid, Schlatt.” He’s not genuinely upset, but he does feel like leaving the club and going home to change.

“Yeah.” The president shrugs and Alex contemplates acting offended just for the comedy of it. He now fully turns to face the tall man and a surprised look makes its way onto his face. He suddenly finds himself looking at Schlatt, who’s stood in the middle of a crowded room full of the fanciest people in town, nonchalantly taking off his suit jacket. He stands there and God, does he still look fancy and gorgeous in that tight waistcoat on him, extending his hand forward with the jacket in it. “Put it on.”

It’s not a question nor request, but it’s still probably the nicest thing he’s witnessed Schlatt do. He takes it from his hand and puts it on, as per his command; it’s warm and a bit too big, but fitting enough so he looks less out-of-place now than before.

“Mm. Tuck your shirt in,” Schlatt says after taking a step back and looking at him from top to bottom. Quackity finds himself immediately complying and suddenly feels dizzy; he finally takes notice of all the emotions washing over his body and tries to steady his breathing. He swallows and looks up at Schlatt, and the man seems… amused.  _ Is this funny to him?  _ Their eyes lock. “Now you look good.”

“Oh… uh.” Alex turns his gaze away and finds he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he fixes the suit some more so it lays better on him. “Thanks.”

Yeah, they’re friends and all, but it’s not often Schlatt does something  _ this _ nice for him. Or for anyone, really. It’s always all so casual and Quackity sometimes worries he reads too much into certain gestures.

“I’ve got a table for us.”

Schlatt immediately heads in the direction of the corner of the room. They walk together and a few people shoot him glances that he can’t quite decipher; is it judgment or jealousy? It’s quite a small table, with a couch right in the corner and two chairs on the other side. They sit on the couch right next to each other and it’s almost like an unspoken agreement to always stick together. In Alex’s head, it just makes sense for the vice-president to sit right by his boss.

Schlatt whistles and a waiter ( _ they’ve got those in this bar?) _ immediately comes up, and he orders them whisky and vodka. They drink and talk business, catching up on citizens’ recent complaints Quackity has gone through. He quickly gets more comfortable and regains his full usual confidence as they sit and drink, and soon the chats turn more casual and humorful. A fancy-dressed person comes up from time to time to have a brief chat with Schlatt, but Alex never leaves his side and he knows that’s what the president likes.

As alcohol’s warmth floods his body and mind more and more, he finds himself chuckling at how intimidated all of those people are by Schlatt.

“It’s like... I’m sitting right by the lion’s side,” he says right after another person leaves their table. “The way they all act.”

“Me?” Schlatt dramatically points a finger at his own chest, making an exaggerated surprised face, then smiles. “Of course. I’ve got all the power, after all.”

Quackity smiles and relaxes his body against the couch. He’s happy to be here, proud even; glad to live so comfortably, but above all, glad to be on Schlatt’s side. They respect him. They respect  _ them. _

As he tilts his head back and puts it against the wall, his knee brushes against Schlatt’s thigh and he decides to just leave it there. He slowly realizes how drunk he’s gotten, how he stumbles in his seat when he gestures wildly and how easy it’s become to make him laugh, and he knows alcohol makes him reckless. He’s already not an anxious person on a daily basis, but especially now there is not a worry to be found within the depths of his mind.

From the corner of his eye, he glances at Schlatt and sees him looking away, around the room, deep in thought. For just a moment, he feels too reckless.

“‘Eyy, Schlatt, my man,” Quackity decides to say, sitting up straighter. He puts his hand right on Schlatt’s thigh, strong and with a comforting bro-like intention. “Are you alr-”

Voice gets caught in his throat as he feels a strong,  _ too strong _ , grip on his hand. Schlatt’s eyes are narrowed and he’s gripping the hand Quackity just put on his leg, and Alex’s drunk, exaggerating mind thinks he’ll break his bones. His heart starts racing and he realizes that despite being on the lion’s side, he could be at his mercy within only seconds.

“Schlatt-” A quiet whimper escapes his throat.

He doesn’t move. Schlatt looks up at him and sees how his eyes flash with panic, he sees his flushed face and tense muscles.  _ This lasts way too long, _ Quackity thinks, and on top of the anxiety, he starts feeling awkward. It’s hard for him to tell how many seconds have passed.

Schlatt finally laughs, loud and guttural, and releases Quackity from his grip. He lets the hand fall onto his thigh again and the shorter man is too stunned to even move it, so he keeps it there.

“God, Alex, you’re amusing,” he says and Quackity feels like he’s going to choke on air from just hearing those words.

He rarely says his name and hearing him say this, with this wild look in his eyes, is a lot to handle for his drunken mind. He wonders how Schlatt stays this attractive regardless of the situation, with his hair all out of order, his speech disorganised, all the effects of alcohol on full display. Quackity hopes it doesn’t happen often, but - just like now - he’s sometimes simply mesmerised. He catches himself admiring details of the man’s mature face, not to mention his fingers. Long but strong, with nails always perfectly well kept and clean.

“You gonna do anything about that hand?” He hears Schlatt’s deep voice, toned down to almost a whisper; the tone feels dark and he can’t quite figure out the motivation behind his words.

He blinks a few times and looks down. His hand is still on the president’s thigh and apparently he’s unconsciously gotten more comfortable, assuming a more relaxed position. He panics.  _ God, is this weird? Have I finally crossed the line?  _ Am I  _ going to do something about it…? _

“No,” he quickly takes it away and averts his gaze. “Shit, sorry.”

“What a shame.”

Having said that, Schlatt chuckles and immediately changes the topic; he orders more strong alcohol and talks about some old high school stories. As if nothing ever happened.

Quackity tries to listen, but he  _ thinks _ and perhaps overthinks, as he feels his heartbeat speed up even more, trying to decipher what the man really meant. His face feels like it’s burning and doing two more shots is of no help to his physical condition. It doesn’t help with the overwhelming thoughts either, but at least he feels  _ something. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their ride home and all the small, gentle gestures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. not much world-building here, but i wanna briefly explain - l’manberg here is sort of a modern city with like, an actual big population and shit. night city kind of vibes i guess
> 
> 2\. oops more fluff than i expected LMAO also the story will be probably one or two chapters longer 
> 
> as always, don't send to any creators, don't repost. the story is about the characters!!

Schlatt has offered to take him home.

It was fast and unexpected; quick, short “Do you wanna stay at mine?” and even shorter “Why not”.

Although Quackity felt sober enough to walk (perhaps not entirely straight), the exit itself was sort of a blur. People coming up to them with professional farewells or last questions, a quick hug from another drunk friend - _probably Niki_ , but he wasn’t sure - Schlatt’s hand briefly resting on his shoulder to lead him towards the exit…

Before he knows it, they’re both sitting in the back seat of a fancy Uber. The atmosphere in the car is light and he thanks God for not feeling awkward. They laugh over some of the guests that spoke to them and a few minutes later they find themselves exiting the vehicle into the cold, night air. The car leaves.

“I’ll have a smoke before we go in,” Schlatt informs him.

They enter the property and stand in front of the house together. It looks clean and only sort-of fancy. The president _is_ rich, that can’t be denied, but he wouldn’t call it a mansion. The property is well taken care of, with some decorative bushes and flower pots along the driveway.

Quackity takes in a sharp breath and feels the freezing air in his lungs. He stands there with his arms loosely crossed and watches Schlatt’s agile fingers as he takes out a cigarette and lights it; he puts it in between his lips and drags in a long breath. He seems relieved.

“Slimey fuckers, them all,” he says out of nowhere. “I gotta be careful sayin’ shit in public, but fuck’s sake… The way they all swarm me just ‘cause I’m important. Just to gain sympathy points.” He waves his hand around, mildly irritated.

“Mm… I get how you feel.” Quackity nods. It’s surprising to see him open up, even if briefly, but he doesn’t mind. “Would’ve been a boring party without me, then,” he adds after a second and watches Schlatt’s lips turn into a grin.

“Obviously.”

The taller man takes another drag and tilts his head back, exhaling the smoke into the night sky. Alex feels his body shudder from the cold - still dressed in only the t-shirt and Schlatt's jacket - but watching the taller man holds his attention better than anything else. He doesn’t stare, but he does look; he looks at his hair and thinks how cute it is, wavy in places and curled in the back, ending perfectly at the base of his neck. The moon is out and, along with the burning cigarette, its light reflects on his ram horns. Quackity has no idea how he gets them to look this perfect; he also realises he’s never gotten to touch them. Perhaps at some point he’ll find a convenient excuse to ask.

After a few minutes Schlatt stamps out the finished cigarette under his shoe and coughs a few times. He looks at Alex and their eyes meet. He looks… worried?

“Hey, you good?” Once again, he feels Schlatt’s hand on his shoulder; it slides down to his upper arm and leaves a gentle squeeze there. Quackity doesn’t exactly get why, but his touch-starved mind appreciates the touch probably more than it should. “You’re freezing.” Oh.

His drunk brain doesn’t register the cold, but his body sure does. He follows the man inside the house, takes off his shoes and heads straight to where he remembers the living room being. He feels like the house is either Schlatt’s lonely sanctuary, where he invites barely anyone, or a place of many important (somewhat shady) business deals. One or the other.

“There should be a blanket here somewhere. The TV remote as well.” Quackity is already looking around. “I’ll make some tea.”

The room is quite big, with a tall ceiling, big couch and a huge TV screen mounted on the wall. Some weird modern statue stands in the corner. There’s a chest of drawers with a small plant on it, an unreasonably packed liquor cabinet and a long coffee table. Two empty bottles of whisky stand on it alongside a dirty ashtray.

He sits on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket he found, and pulls out his phone. Browsing social media proves to be impossible - his hands are shaking much more than he thought and, on top of that, his drunk mind can’t really even be bothered to try. He sighs, puts his head back and closes his eyes. His body feels numb and he realises it’s not in the usual pleasant way, most likely because of the cold. He tries to focus on his breathing. For a while the world seems to be spinning, then tilting backwards and he - irrationally - thinks he might just fall. Schlatt’s finger poking his arm finally makes him open his eyes and notice the tall ram man standing above him.

“Hi there.” He knows it’s a dumb thing to say, almost childish (it’s not like he was surprised or anything), but he smiles up in this silly, goofy way at Schlatt’s face.

The man laughs and Alex’s heart seems to melt once again against his will.

“It’s been like 5 minutes, man, you miss me already?” He jokes ( _Alex wishes he wasn't_ ) and hands him a cup. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He sits up and warms his trembling hands on a cup of tea for about five seconds, before setting it down on the coffee table in front of the couch, scared he’ll spill it on himself. He pulls his beanie further down onto his ears and fixes his hair, his usual comfort habit. Schlatt dims the lights and turns on the TV. With a sigh of relief he sits down next to Quackity - it’s a comfortable distance, considering the couch itself is quite long.

The shorter man takes the cup into both hands again, holding it right above the table, but the surface of the tea waves and is barely contained within the walls of the mug. He lets out a frustrated huff, trying to focus on not trembling.

He’s distracted so he barely hears Schlatt shuffle closer. If he thought his heart was melting before, he surely didn’t expect it to do a full flip as he felt the other man’s hands on his own.

His mind stops and all he can do is _feel_. They’re bigger than his and so much more stable and warm. Despite his bones freezing, his heart burns and he feels like he’s going to start sweating. He jokingly thinks Schlatt should’ve just kissed him instead of making tea, _that would’ve been effective enough._

Schlatt’s palms are pressed against the back of his cold hands and Quackity isn’t sure if he’s imagining it or if he is really gently caressing his hand with his thumb. It seems too… soft. Too out of place for someone like the president.

“Better now? You’re shaking a lot,” he sounds a little bit too awkward for his usual self. “Don’t want you to burn yourself ‘n’ shit.”

_So nice..._

"Huh?" Schlatt's voice makes him look up for just a second. "Well, I'm… glad it is."

He said it out loud.

"Sorry, I didn't…" he mumbles awkwardly, again, keeping his eyes glued to their hands, all surrounding the cup. "I meant that about you." That's not what he initially meant, but it was true as well.

" _Me_? Nice?" Schlatt chuckles. Their hands remain steady. "Just don't go saying that to people or they might think I'm not a tyrant."

He has no idea what's going through the man's head, but he worries he made it too weird despite the joke and the laughs. Schlatt takes his hands away and Quackity quietly sips the tea, his hands are more stable and warm now. His common (only around Schlatt) thought of "did I make it awkward" starts looping in his brain, and so to save himself he opens his mouth and keeps talking.

"Tea's nice. Didn't I have it the last time I was here?"

"Yea. I remembered you liked it."

 _Stop. Stop, or I'll fall ever harder_.

"Suuure, you probably just have one kind and you're too lazy to buy more." Quick joke. They both chuckle. A moment of silence.

He puts the cup down.

"Wanna watch something?"

He suggests, despite being the guest, which Schlatt jokes about as well. Quackity thanks God for their ability to lighten the mood immediately with the similar sense of humor; barely humor, actually, more of a… mutual banter. He finds it comforting how easy it is to talk to Schlatt, even despite his numerous thoughts and feelings about him.

All the thoughts and feelings…

He looks at him out of the corner of his eye. Schlatt is relaxed, his previously neat hair falls on his forehead now; he traces the shape of his jaw with his eyes, looks at his lips and he finds he just can't stop thinking how he would feel if he kissed them. Would that mean he's gay? Would it confirm anything for him? Would it actually matter?

"This one sound good?"

He mindlessly nods and Schlatt turns on some random shitty Netflix movie. All Alex can do now is try his best to focus on it instead of thinking what could possibly be going through Schlatt's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u read this tysm


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk, open up, and finally make some moves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TYSM FOR 2K HITS AND ALL THE NICE COMMENTS🥺 sorry if i don't reply to them, but it genuinely means so so much. the break was due to me being super depressed and physically unable to write lmao👍 BUT i finally managed to get this out, so i hope you enjoy x
> 
> as always, don't send to any creators, don't repost + the story is about the dsmp characters!!
> 
> ps yes they definitely finally fuck in the next chapter I PROMISE. if ure not into that feel free to treat this chapter as the end of the story👍

For a while, all they do is sit and watch the movie, both still very much drunk. Quackity thinks to himself how nice it is to finally sit and relax in _only_ each other’s company after all the noise earlier that night. The atmosphere in the room is light, the air easy to breathe, and the temperature is just right for him to warm himself up under the blanket. He doesn’t exactly notice when, but at some point, Schlatt shuffles closer and covers himself up as well, under the muttered pretense of being cold. He doesn’t mind.

He finds himself lost in his thoughts; he isn’t interested in the movie at all and that makes it easier for his mind to wander. He focuses on Schlatt's smooth voice; the man is commenting on dumb scenes from time to time. He still swears a lot, but the way he speaks towards _him_ is considerate and gentle, and at this moment Quackity thinks of how all of his usual hostility is only an act.

He plans to take a quick, casual look at his ( _God, so handsome)_ friend, but his drunk movements betray him and he basically tilts his entire head to the side to look at Schlatt, leaning against the couch. The ram hybrid notices and looks back at him with a raised eyebrow, but doesn't say anything.

They stare at each other. Quackity smiles.

"It's lovely spending time with you like this."

Schlatt chuckles in a sad, grim way that makes the smile fall from Alex's lips.

"Hey, I mean it. You're so much more different when we're alone. In a good way."

Schlatt turns his head away with a quiet huff and he can't quite say if he's frustrated or mad. The man looks in the direction of the TV, but he's not paying attention anymore. Quackity gently puts his hand on his arm; a sign of reassurance. The atmosphere isn't light anymore; not heavy either, but now he just looks... sad.

"I often feel like… I shouldn't be here." When Schlatt starts speaking again his voice is slower and quieter than before. He's not looking back at Quackity. "I drink and tell myself people don't hate me, cuz I don't like thinking about the truth. Fear gives me power and money and enemies, but I feel like I'm…"

He stops and Alex caresses his arm gently; his warm eyes are saying " _go on, your words are safe with me"._ It's not that he looks like he will cry, but Quackity almost thinks that's worse; his eyes are filled with empty sadness. Acceptance.

"I'm not a failure of a leader. I'm a failure of a human being, Alex."

 _That’s not true,_ he thinks.

"What do you think you're not worthy of?" he says instead.

"Happiness, probably." Schlatt shrugs as if he didn't just say a devastatingly sad thing. He hesitates before speaking again. "I sometimes feel like this when I'm with you. Undeserving."

Quackity’s heart is both heavy with warmth and hollow with compassionate sadness; Schlatt is sitting here, right beside him, offering his heart on a platter while averting his gaze. At that moment he feels like he understands him better than ever before and it hurts, it hurts to know the brutality of his mind. Obviously, he _is_ someone who strikes fear in others, but he's never thought of him as immoral or undeserving of happiness. Personal bias, someone could call it.

“Well, listen,” he starts and feels his hands getting uncomfortably sweaty again. _The "feelings" talk does that…_ “You’re… my friend. And a good person. Like, you’re wonderful, really. I wish you didn’t always feel like you have to… hide behind that veil of oversaturated confidence, though.” Quackity feels his heart racing, but he smiles lightly. Comfortingly.

“Oh, no, I _am_ confident, I’m just an awful motherfucker.”

Schlatt chuckles, still looking away at the wall on his right, and Quackity copies him. He mindlessly rubs his thumb on the fabric of Schlatt’s jacket over his bicep.

“You’re really not, though. You’re not a bad person.”

He sighs and once again the confidence takes over him, just for a moment, and he lets his head fall onto Schlatt’s shoulder. When he hears no objection, he quietly positions himself so they both sit comfortably side by side, the dark-haired man’s head resting on a shoulder right below the ram horns.

Schlatt lets out a long, calm exhale and then everything goes silent.

Minutes pass quickly in the drunken haze and both of them are so deep inside their minds they don’t realize the TV has been playing with the sound off. None of them move for what seems to be the longest time and Quackity catches himself overanalyzing again. _What does this mean for Schlatt? How okay is he with this? What is he thinking? He's not the one to show physical affection, although this night has been different, but what if it's just the alcohol? Is he…_

Alex opens his eyes, which he didn’t realize he had closed, as he feels Schlatt move. His arm quietly wraps around his shoulder and for a second Quackity thinks his heart might burst out of his chest. He then slowly feels Schlatt’s arm bend at the elbow as his hand reaches towards his head. He isn’t sure if he really hears him ask “ _May I…?”_ or if it’s his imagination, but he nods and just moments later he feels long fingers slip under his beanie and into his hair.

“Your hair’s nice, is all,” he murmurs a hurried excuse. He feels the beanie fall, his dark, soft hair now completely exposed. It’s all ruffled but at the same time kind of flat from the hat. A few strands fall onto Quackity’s forehead.

He manages to make himself look; picks his head up from his shoulder and looks at Schlatt, only to see him already looking back.

His face is flushed and slightly tilted to the side, dark eyes filled with something he can’t quite decipher… Curiosity? Fascination? _Lust?_ Alex feels him running his fingers (which he admired from afar many times; _so beautiful)_ through his hair and it’s almost like he’s going crazy. He’d never expect that from him… this type of tenderness, a sign of affection he’d only dream of, that he’d imagine in his stupid fantasies he was sure would never come this close to the truth. Was this all because of the honesty? All the feelings flooding out...

_Does he care, for real? Or is this only a drunk’s desperate performance?_

_If it was only a one-night performance, the President's one-time need of closeness, he would still participate._

Tender hand caressing his hair slips down, lands on his cheek, and holds it there, and all Quackity can do is lean into it almost like a cat. He breathes in Schlatt’s scent; it’s mostly alcohol, but also a mix of sweat and his expensive cologne.

“Mhmm. This is nice,” the ram man whispers with a smile. More butterflies erupt in Alex’s stomach. He keeps his eyes closed, feeling his face turn redder and redder. “Kinda gay though, am I right?”

Schlatt laughs and Quackity laughs with him. _This is so ridiculous._

“Naaah, what? Not at all.” He rolls his eyes.

Side to side, under one blanket, looking into each other’s eyes; the only sound being their breathing and echo of their laughs; the TV light being the only thing illuminating their faces… Quackity prays for this to be a fact, to not be one of his dreams, but this time everything _does_ feel real. He looks at his friend and admires and realizes he’s speechless - all his mind is able to focus on right now is the feeling of Schlatt’s big, warm hand on his cheek.

The taller man must know that, because his features become softer and suddenly his face is way closer to his, his hot breath on Quackity’s face.

“Alex,” his raspy, slow voice sends shivers all over his body and the sudden closeness makes him freeze up. Schlatt smirks. “Could it be that you… like me?”

 _Cocky bastard._ If this was a normal situation, he’d probably roll his eyes and joke back, but right now all he could do is sit there, all flustered and quiet.

“Your face is all red, y’know? What’s the reason, Alex?” He’s teasing him, obviously, and he knows it. Quackity swallows hard and smiles nervously.

“H-huh…? I’m just…” Before he can find any words, his voice gets stuck in his throat as Schlatt moves closer, the tips of their noses almost touching. Schlatt is now fully turned towards him, leaning in.

The hand slides from the cheek to his neck and Quackity shudders.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” Alex says under his breath. The man raises an eyebrow and he can’t tell if it’s a genuine non-verbal question or if it’s part of the teasing. “I don’t think you realize how _much_ you make me feel.” He’s not upset, but he is desperate; he knows he needs to say this. He needs him to know.

“I do?” _A more genuine tone…?_

“No shit, man, I’m fucking crazy for you. D’you ever see yourself in the mirror?”

Schlatt moves away a few inches and lets out a short chuckle. For a second he sounds like he doesn’t exactly believe him.

“God, you’re cute.”

Like on command, all the air leaves Quackity’s lungs and he can’t take it anymore; with a huff, he leans forward and covers his red, flustered face with his hands. That gets yet another chuckle out of Schlatt.

He feels him place a gentle hand on the back of his neck. Quackity shivers.

“This is so..." Schlatt studies him for a second. "Amusing.”

“ _Amusing?_ ” He looks up at him from behind his own fingers.

“Your reactions, pumpkin spice.” He blinks slowly and there’s a sense of light-hearted bickering to it all. “Earlier you talked about me being in power, a lion ‘n’ all that… Kinda checks out, doesn’t it?”

_Oh, this smug asshole._

Overcome with sudden confidence, or simply the need of a petty comeback, he lets his body move on his own. Quackity lunges forward and pushes Schlatt by the shoulders, not too hard so that the man falls on his back; there is no resistance. With a victorious grin, he sits on top of his chest and casually fixes his messed up hair, combing through it with his fingers. The sudden movement made him a bit dizzy, but he managed to keep his balance.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to feel amused, hm?” he asks, although his voice shakes a little, while towering above the man who is now lying down. He still has the shit-eating grin on his face.

“You can tr-”

Before Schlatt can finish, Quackity leans down, propping himself up above him by placing hands on the sides of the man’s face. He closes his eyes and suddenly, their lips connect; it takes him a few seconds too long to realize what all this could mean, paranoid and anxious thoughts still at the back of his mind ( _as if he didn’t already know Schlatt's answer_ ). He hears Schlatt let out a short, surprised noise before the man confidently grabs his face with both hands and pulls him even closer. It’s hot and in a way comforting and his entire body floods with relief. Alex’s mind feels like it’s exploding; all the half-aware pining he’s been doing, all the fantasies, every minute he spent admiring him - it all led here.

It all led to Schlatt.


End file.
